


Their Parents' War

by Atlantia



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Darth Tantrum and his Evil Space Ginger, Depressing, Life isn't fair, M/M, Sad Ending, discussion about the nature of good and evil, everyone is the hero of their own story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlantia/pseuds/Atlantia
Summary: The Republic is dead, the Rebellion is born, but even with Snoke gone the First Order has never been stronger. Opportunities must be taken when they present themselves. Now on the run, and without the benefits of due process, sometimes that means doing something distasteful in the cause of practicality and morale. But when Leia comes face to face with Armitage Hux, she has to understand that not everyone agrees with the Rebellion's goals, and confront three difficult truths:Good people can do bad things.Bad people can do good things.Both can still be right.





	Their Parents' War

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Please, please note the warnings. Major character death doesn't happen in the story, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen.
> 
> I am a relative newcomer to this fandom and it's one of the most compelling fandoms I've found in years. There are two things that I normally complain about:
> 
> 1\. There are too many redemption fics (these are not nice people - but they believe they are right in what they do).
> 
> 2\. There are too many depressing fics (the pairing just naturally lends itself to it).
> 
> Having said that, this idea bit me one night and I couldn't get rid of it, so I've gone and written my own fic that falls squarely into the depressing category :)

The corridor is cold and the lights overly-bright as Leia walks ahead of the guards towards the double doors in front of her. They walk stiffly, and she can almost feel the tenseness as a pressure pushing against her back, driving her somewhere she didn't want to be. She pauses briefly at the doors themselves, and the guard on the right hits the nearby button, allowing the doors to slide swiftly open.

 

In contrast to the corridor, the conference room setup is particularly dark. Small lights spaced around the perimeter, and a single solitary lamp on the table throw the corners into shadow, almost as though the black of space has seeped in through the enormous windows. Alternatively, it may have seeped out of the thin uniformed figure who currently awaited her.

 

His back is to the door, staring unmoving out the wide window, hands clasped tightly in the small of his back. The uniform is perfectly pressed and creased, worn with military precision.

 

For just a moment, her vision is overlaid with a different time and place, a different man. He turns slowly and static fills her ears.

 

_“You would prefer another target? A military target? Then name the system!”_

 

Her eyes flash up to the shine of red hair and the static clears away. This is not Tarkin and this is not the Death Star.

 

“Princess.” His voice is as smooth as Tarkin’s, his Basic carries a similar accent, and piled up behind it is enough polite arrogance to weigh down a star destroyer.

 

“Princess of a dead world. I go by General now, Marshal Hux.” His lips quirk slightly at the corners, amused by a private joke. It makes him suddenly look young, and she can’t help feeling like she’s staring at a child, left fighting his parent’s war.

 

Behind her, the doors slide quietly shut, the guards standing off to each side. The table is large enough to seat twenty, but only two chairs are present. She slides down onto the closest seat, and takes in the two datapads sitting haloed by the soft table lamp. Across from her, Hux does the same. Apart from his hair, the only colour comes from the medals pinned to his tunic, and the bright braided rope slung across one shoulder.

 

She watches as green eyes momentarily drop to the table, accompanied by a small purse of lips, and comes to the realisation that Hux doesn’t know how to begin.

 

Her abilities with the Force have never been much beyond an occasional instinct or feeling, but since the bridge decompression near Crait, her sense of those around her has grown stronger. Hux feels like someone who is hanging by a thread. She’s not sure what she was expecting. Like most of the Rebellion she’s seen the videos of Starkiller a thousand times. She’s heard the speech, she’s read the transcript. None of it showed a person who was uncertain about what they were doing.

 

“How will they do it?” The voice is soft, but there is no other sound in the room. She’s tempted to dissemble. Pretend she doesn’t know what he’s referring to. But they both know that she does. Her own voice is equally soft.

 

“Blaster to the head.” She can feel the breath across her face as Hux exhales, eyes sliding closed. She doesn’t like that his breath smells clean and fresh. She doesn’t want to know that.

 

Hux draws in a deep breath, posture straightening, shoulders uncurling, and she notes only a small stutter as he somehow pulls himself together. There’s barely the slightest trace of moisture in the corner of his eyes, and he gently clears his throat as he blinks swiftly to clear them.

 

“Thank you.” His voice is stronger now, as though a swift execution is some sort of kindness he hadn’t expected. “And Kylo? You told them that he wasn’t involved in Starkiller?” She bristles slightly at the false name given to her son, but nods in confirmation.

 

“Rey also confirmed that Ben helped her when she was held prisoner and that he was the one to take out Supreme Leader Snoke. That went in his favour.” Hux’s small chuckle is surprisingly warm, and Leia finds herself fervently wishing that she could stop learning these things about him. Green eyes are momentarily sparkling with wry amusement as they meet her own.

 

“That liar.” His lips peel back from white teeth as he smiles at her, as though they’re sharing a joke. “He told me that the girl killed Snoke.”

 

The smile is gone as quickly as it came, and she can almost see it as their discussion is swiftly compartmentalised away within Hux’s head, and he turns back to the business at hand. She gets a brief flash through the Force, sees a younger Hux learning how to be an officer, striving desperately for approval from a father who didn’t care.

 

A black gloved hand picks up the larger of the two datapads, activating it and sliding it efficiently across the table to her.

 

“This contains everything I know about current ship and troop deployments for those regions under my direct influence.” He’s scrolling through a list of files and data blocks for her, reading upside down. “I’ve also included the specifications for weaponry and ships, as well as personality profiles for those officers I felt were likely to play an important role in the future.” The listing of files is extensive, and Leia feels an unexpected pang of sadness that in all likelihood the Rebellion will never know how much their cause was helped by this one man. She wants to be able to think that this doesn’t even come close to balancing out the damage done by the Order or Starkiller, but those were on a galactic scale. What he’s doing here is so much more personal, that she’s left with the unpleasant sensation of being in his debt.

 

“There’s also a listing of officers who might be sympathetic to the Rebellion’s cause, and therefore may be willing to assist or work with you if peace can ever be negotiated.” She’s no longer looking at the files, but instead watching him intently as he betrays everything he’s worked for his entire life. She gently rests her hand on top of his, stopping him from continuing. His hand jerks slightly, and he cuts off mid sentence.

 

“Why?” His hand jerks again, as though he would rather pull it back from her touch. “You don’t strike me as a man who second guesses himself. You didn’t come to us before Starkiller. You didn’t come to us _after_ Starkiller. Now it’s been six months since Snoke was killed. We were beaten at Crait, the First Order has never been more powerful. Why do it? Why now?”

 

She doesn’t let go of his gloved hand, her fingers gently closed around his wrist, and she can feel as his pulse speeds up. She’s not really sure what she was expecting. Possibly tearful confessions of regret. Maybe claims that he had been brainwashed and forced to do it. She’s also still waiting for the moment where he resorts to begging for his life. Some of that must show in her expression, as the person sitting opposite her suddenly transforms before her eyes.

 

The slightly lost, but stoic young man is replaced by a hard eyed military leader, who has spent his life fighting the odds and winning.

 

“I’m not doing this for the Rebellion. I’m not doing it for you.” His voice is hard as flint, a bottomless well of rage bottled away and waiting to explode. “You think I regret it? That somehow I found my humanity and realised I was a monster? Maybe you think I lie awake at night tortured by visions of the souls killed in the Hosnian system?” He pulls his hand from hers as he jerks upright, chair tumbling backwards to the floor.

 

“You think I’m full of guilt? I’m proud of what I’ve done. I was the youngest person ever promoted to the rank of General in the First Order. I’ve orchestrated battles where our enemy was wiped out without losing a single life. I’ve planned planetary invasions so complex that we’ve conquered them without a single shot fired. I’ve dedicated my entire _life_ to achieving peace and order in the galaxy.” His eyes burn with an almost religious zeal as he addresses her, and the man before her now is the same one who gave a speech that ordered the deaths of billions. His words are torn from somewhere deep inside him where a monster has built its lair, flying like flames from the mouth of a dragon.

 

“The First Order was nourished with _my_ blood, _my_ sweat, _my_ tears. You think Snoke and his mysticism built the Order? The First Order is what it is today because _I WILLED THAT IT BE SO!_ ” His hands slam down on the table in front of her, and the darkness makes him appear to suddenly loom over her, but his eyes are staring over her head at something only he can see.

 

“I saw a galaxy where every planet was brought to heel and forced to live by the same rules as everyone else. Where fleets of destroyers patrol trade routes so goods and passengers can flow free from harassment. Where children can grow up without knowing hunger, or fear, or deprivation. I see order. Law. Prosperity.” His volume dips, and his eyes are suddenly boring into her, as though he can see down to her soul. “Civilisation…” The word seems to trail off into a hiss, and she keeps her eyes locked with his as his words fade away.

 

“You still haven’t told me why?” She doesn’t shout them, doesn’t even raise her voice, but he flinches back from her as through struck. His arms on the table now seem like they are all that holds him up.

 

“In my galaxy, the rule of law applies to all. There is no room for a leader who holds himself above law and order.” He steps slowly back from the table, avoiding his fallen chair, until he can sink down onto the elevated sill of the giant window behind him. His hands slide harshly through his red hair, throwing his perfectly ordered appearance into disarray.

 

“An Order,” he breaks off with a barked laugh before starting again. “An Empire, ruled by one who does not follow rules, is doomed to fall, and the galaxy does not look kindly on ex-Supreme Leaders.” His expression is trapped somewhere between mirth and an almost unbelievable sadness.

 

“There was an old Arkanisian proverb engraved at the entrance to the Academy: _An officer tells his men what they must do. A leader shows his men, and then challenges them to do better._ ” He’s watching her to see if she understands, and again she flashes to a younger Hux, running across a field at the front of a team, blood and mud staining his uniform a rusty brown.

 

“The simple fact is that I realised the Order could not succeed whilst Snoke or Kylo were in control. Kylo took care of the first of those obstacles, but I couldn’t bring myself to take care of the second.” He seems suddenly so small, hidden in the gloom, hunched down around himself. He chuckles again, but it’s bitter now, and this time she gets no vision, just a voice she doesn’t know:

 

_“Armitage is a weak-willed boy. Thin as a slip of paper and just as useless….”_

 

The static clears from her head as Hux chokes off his laughter.

 

“You will look after him? When he wakes up he won’t be happy to be here. It may take him a long time before he understands.” His eyes are hard, but the hitch in his voice puts the lie to that quickly. Colour flushes through his cheeks. He carefully stands back up and grabs the smaller datapad, passing it to her, although he does not let go straight away.

 

“We’re both practical people, General, who do what they think needs to be done. I realise you can’t explain all this to the Rebellion. That you can’t afford any shades of grey in the middle of a war. I understand that once I’m gone there will likely only be celebrating.” She can hear as he swallows, relinquishing the datapad into her hand.

 

“But, please, tell Kylo that at the end my only thoughts were for him, and that, even though I don’t want the galaxy’s forgiveness, I hope that someday I can have his.” His eyes plead with her and she feels herself nod and answer before she even has time to properly think about it. Hux sighs and his head drops, as though putting a matter to rest, then he’s mentally reassembling himself in front of her and holding out his wrists for the guards.

 

The silver cuffs are bright against the dark uniform sleeves, and even though she knows she should hate this man, _does_ hate this man, as she watches him walk away down the corridor, she can’t help but feel sorrow as well. She should be following the guards down to the shuttlebay, to bear witness as the greatest enemy of the Rebellion breathes his last.

 

But…

 

The datapad in her hand contains only a single file. An old fashioned video, not even holographic. She’d just given her word to convey all of this to her son, but part of her whispers that the promise was given to a dead man. That Ben is better off thinking that his situation is a final act of betrayal. As her finger hovers over the delete key, she tells herself she’s done far worse things in the name of the Rebellion.

 

But she can’t press it. She thinks of how young Hux is, and how all he’d wanted before he died was to be able to go to that death believing that someday, Ben would understand why.

 

Her finger hits the play button instead.

 

Hux is sitting on the floor of what looks like the cargo bay of the shuttle they arrived in, his back resting against the wall next to one of the sleep alcoves. She can see a hint of black cloth in the bunk itself, just barely in frame, and Hux is glancing up and over his shoulder as though checking on something when the video starts recording. Unlike the Hux she just spoke with, this Hux is open and warm as he turns to the camera. His face carries a thousand expressions in a single glance, his eyes are bright and clear. Tears are running down both cheeks, but he’s smiling, and his voice is loaded with so much that Leia can’t even put a name to it.

 

“Hi Kylo,”

 

_Fin~_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Das Gleichgewicht der Macht](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420800) by [Darth_Cannizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Cannizard/pseuds/Darth_Cannizard)




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